


Make the Fireflies Dance

by auburn



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, First Kisses, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/pseuds/auburn
Summary: All of Steve Rogers' first kisses.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Betas by the usual suspects. Many thanks to them for their patience with me, as always. Sian asked for a story for Con*Strict's zine and wrote this, sent it off and forgot about it until now. Oops.

His Ma. His Ma gives him his first kiss. Steve doesn't remember when it is. He's too small to run outside and play on his own, that's all he can figure out. He's sick in bed again, he knows, always sick.

So sick the memory is a color-blind blur, distorted by growing up and things he'd been told later. It was so long ago, not just in years.

All that's left is a wisp. A sensation more than anything, of being so hot and aching, buried under blankets that press down his spindly limbs, his chest sore from coughing, and his Ma's hand cool on his forehead as she brushes his sweaty hair back. His eyes are closed and he's so tired. She sings at night and prays, nightly and each morning, to the Father and the Son and all the saints, but to Mary mostly, to keep Steve through another night, the Latin lilting with her Irish accent. He can conjure the scent of her: powder and the carbolic soap that irritated her hands red and something with lilac in her hair. She holds him to her through the night, his knobby back pressed to her chest, so he can breathe. He remembers the tickle against his cheek when her hair brushed against it as she bent close and touched her lips to his forehead, a benediction. 

That is Steve's first kiss.

He remembers how her hands were rough from work but her lips were still soft as a rose petal. A mother's kiss was his first.

 

*

Frankie Nelson isn't so bad, but his buddy Joey Mosgrove is a jerk. Steve doesn't like him at all and doesn't understand why Frankie does. Joey's taller than everyone, like a string bean and mean. He throws rocks at cats and pigeons, but he's no good at it and never hits them. That just makes him meaner. He says nasty stuff about any girls they see and he's even rotten to the Nelsons' collie, Maisie. Frankie never sees it though.

Steve wouldn't have anything to do with either of them, but Bucky's as crazy about animals as Joey is rotten and he loves that collie. So Steve trails along when Bucky is invited to play stick ball behind the Nelsons' garden, where the row houses are going up.

He can't breathe good enough to run bases, so he sits on the back stoop and keeps the score and cheers for Bucky. He thinks Bucky could be a baseball player someday, like Bucky Harris or Ty Cobb. Maybe not Babe Ruth. Bucky's not that good.

Yet, Bucky swears. 

He's the best stick ball hitter in their neighborhood though and everyone is willing to have Steve hang around too to have Bucky on their team.

Steve wouldn't mind just sketching them on the back of his schoolwork and petting Maisie, except her fur makes his eyes water and his nose run. He's supposed to hold onto her collar whenever anyone is at bat so she doesn't chase their ball. Except he gets distracted sneezing when Bucky swings and Joey Mosgrove can't catch a cold with a fishing net. 

The ball sails over Joey's hands and bounces and the collie is after it faster than Steve can grab for her.

The game dissolves into Maisie playing keep away with all the boys and the ball ends up slobbered on and punctured in a couple of places. It's Joey's ball, though, and he's really mad.

No one realizes how mad Joey is though until Steve catches him the next day, tying up Maisie and then kicking her.

"Hey!" Steve yells. "Stop that!"

"Yeah, you gonna make me, midget?" Joey demands. He aims another kick into Maisie's ribs, making her yelp, and Steve curls his hands into fists. 

"Yeah, I am," he tells Joey and dodges around him to pull the rope loose. The collie bolts away and Steve turns to face Joey's red, furious face leaning close to his. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"I'm gonna beat you into pudding, Irish! I wouldn't need a new ball if you'd just held onto the dog like you were supposed to!" Joey punctuates that with his fist to Steve's nose.

It's a little bit true and that makes Steve even madder. He punches Joey in the belly, just where Bucky told him to hit, but he's so small and skinny it barely makes Joey wince. And then Joey's pounding on him, yelling even nastier stuff than usual, and Steve ends up on the ground, curled in a ball to protect his ribs and belly. At least Joey's kicking him and not the dog, he thinks.

He gone from wondering how he'll explain his dirty, ripped clothes and the raw scuffs on his face to wondering how he'll catch his next breath when a loud, "Hey!" is followed by the noises of a scuffle, a loud cry from Joey, and then footsteps racing away.

Steve pries his eyes open enough to see a pair of patched at the knees pants that he recognizes. Bucky kneels beside him, looking worried. "Hey, Stevie," he whispers. He doesn't actually touch Steve, but his hands hover over Steve's shoulders like he wants to pick him up. Bucky's taller than him, but not that much, Steve likes to think.

"Buck-y," Steve wheezes out in two breaths.

It's good enough. Bucky sits back on his heels and scowls at him. "Why ya always gotta find trouble, huh?"

Steve uncurls enough to lift his head and glare at Bucky. "He was kicking the Maisie!"

Bucky narrows his eyes. "I oughta find him and punch his face in. Shoulda done it already."

Steve's arms and legs and back all feel bruised and of course he has a tear in his shirt at the elbow. It hurts to shuffle around into a sitting position. And his nose is bleeding. He cups his hand under it, hoping he can keep the blood off his shirt. Ma can darn the tear, but getting blood out of a shirt is always hard.

After a second, a mostly clean handkerchief appears under his nose, courtesy of Bucky. Bucky's Ma told them a gentleman always carried a handkerchief in case a lady needed one. Bucky told Steve that was dumb, because no one socked dames in the face. He always ended up using his grubby hankie to clean up Steve instead. Just like he is now.

"You're only mad at him 'cause of a dog?" Steve demands when he has his breath back. He sounds funny because he's holding his nose closed, but Bucky understands him.

Bucky laughs at him. "Well, yeah, you're always starting fights. I bet the dog didn't do nothin'."

"Jerk."

"Yeah, yeah, and you're a little punk," Bucky teases back. He squints at Steve. "Did he hit your head?"

"Uh, I don't know."

Bucky reaches for Steve's face and flips his hair off his forehead. It hurts and Steve flinches. "Owww."

"Sorry. Does it still hurt?"

He can feel the warm wetness of blood through the throb of pain and glowers at Bucky. "Whatta ya think?"

Bucky looks apologetic. "It looks like it hurts." 

Steve grunts and tries not to cry. He's too big to cry when he gets punched. He's concentrating on blinking back the hotness in his eyes and not paying attention to Bucky.

The soft press of lips to his forehead, just to the side of the contusion, takes Steve by surprise and he stares with wide eyes at Bucky as he pulls back. Bucky's face has gone pink.

"What?"

Bucky gets a mulish look on his face. "Ma always kisses it better. Doesn't your Ma?"

"Yeah," Steve admits.

Bucky's gaze darts down to the gravelly ground and then back up to Steve. "So does it feel better?"

Everything still stings and aches, but there's a warmth inside too. Steve presses Bucky's hankie tighter to his nose and nods. 

"Yeah," he says, "it's better."

Bucky grins brilliantly and Steve's heart does this flutter that's scary.

 

*

Bucky holds up a milk bottle with something decidedly not milk in it. Sure, it could be water, but water doesn't move like that, fractionally heavier, and with a sheen. That's moonshine or Steve'll eat his sketch book. Everyone says Prohibition is going to be repealed, but in the meantime, the bootleggers and crooks are still making money off illegal booze.

Even Steve, skinny and asthmatic as he is, has made a little now and then by acting as a look-out while a truck full of alcohol brought in from the endless number of ships anchoring in international waters offshore is unloaded. Sand Street is one long line of saloons, tattoo parlors, rooming houses and gambling dens. Four out of four have secret doors and hidden bars.

Bucky's only fifteen, but he's big enough to earn some money helping unload and smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

He's usually a little more discreet with the liquor, which means he's probably already had some of it.

"Look what Paulie Giancollo slipped me for coming down and helping last night," Bucky says.

It doesn't occur to either of them to use glasses. Bucky just hands Steve the bottle and he takes a sip. It burns like acid going down and the taste is just as nasty. No wonder Paulie gave the bottle away. It's so lousy people would pay not to drink it. Steve nearly coughs it up, but the second gulp goes down easier, like the first one burned every taste bud out.

"That's vile," he says when he has his breath back.

Bucky grins and takes a swallow. "Yeah, I know. Let's get drunk." 

They wander down the street, ducking into alleys to gulp down more of the booze and keep their buzz on and keeping the bottle hidden under Bucky's coat the rest of the time. It's late, the summer light lingers over the western horizon, silhouetting the crazy black cut-outs of the city skyline. They work their way down past the docks to a spot where they can sit and look out at the water as the streetlights come on like strings of full moons. There's an oily, iridescent sheen where the water laps against the shore with a half-drowned gurgle.

Steve pours a drop of the moonshine into the sea.

"Hey, don't waste it!" 

"Libations to the gods of the sea," Steve tells him loftily. He really wanted to see if the alcohol would cut the skim of oil, but he couldn't tell. It's hard to imagine that there are other colors that he can't see, but Bucky's assured him its true and Bucky's never messed with him about any of the stupid things that are wrong with Steve.

He takes a sip and hands the bottle back to Bucky.

"I think I might be able to get a job down here or at Bush," Bucky murmurs later.

Steve grimaces. Of course if he can get a job, Bucky'll take it. Money's too tight not too, but Bucky's so much better than being just some dumb dockworker. He wishes he could convince him of that, convince him to go back to playing baseball or something. Bucky should get to have a great life and he's going to have a life, a long one, not like Steve. Hell, the doctors don't think Steve'll make it much past twenty.

Twenty used to seem so old and far away and now it's much too close.

"You should graduate first."

Bucky shrugs. "Nah, you're the smart one, Stevie. You're the one that's gonna do something with all that schooling."

That is just sheer bullshit which Steve wants to protest. Bucky's smart and he loves learning and reading, maybe more than Steve. Steve takes refuge in books because it's about the only thing he can do well with his disappointment of a body. Bucky just likes it.

"Yeah, sure, I'm going to accomplish a lot by the time I'm twenty."

"Don't be stupid, Stevie. You ain't gonna die. You're gonna live to be a hundred. Well, ninety-nine at least."

Steve laughs at the idiocy. He knows if Bucky had any say about it, it would be true. Bucky's the best friend anyone could ever have. If he had to choose between being like he is now, sickly and scrawny, or not having Bucky in his life, he'd choose Bucky every time.

"Your lips to God's ears," he says finally. There are boats out on the water and he watches the lights for a while. Where are they going and where have they been? There's so much out there that he's never going to have a chance to find out or do. "I just wish… I want… I don't know. I don't want to disappear. I don't want to be forgotten."

Bucky's hand finds his and squeezes. "I'll never forget you, Stevie. You know that."

Steve squeezed his hand back.

"And you don't get to die until I say so," Bucky added.

The snort of laughter that escapes Steve sets Bucky off too and they giggle drunkenly at each other. It would be embarrassing if anyone else were around to hear them. They sound dumber than Bucky's little sister.

"That's kinda pushy," Steve says when he's recovered enough to talk again.

Bucky loops his arm over Steve's shoulders and pulls him in close. Steve squirms but he can't stop Bucky pushing his nose against the side of his head and then kissing his temple. His breath, heavy with alcohol, brushes warm over Steve's cheek and he shivers. "Ewww."

"What?" Bucky demands. He still has his arm around Steve and it feels heavy and good at the same time.

"Kissing," Steve says. "It's icky." He's not sure if it is or isn't. It looks kind of gross. He doesn't want anyone's tongue in his mouth.

"Kissing's great." Bucky sounds scandalized. 

"Like you'd know, jerk, you can't even get Louise McMurphy to kiss you and everyone knows she's easy." In his head, he apologizes to her, but it's true. Louise is two years older than them and goes out with different boys every other night. Father Dooley always has a red face after he hears Louise's confession at church.

"I could too," Bucky insists.

"Naw," Steve teases, "no one's ever gonna wanna kiss you, Bucky. You're too ugly." He's flat out lying now, because Bucky's got the sort of looks that would make him a matinee idol if he could act.

"You punk." Bucky's laughing again, then he's leaning in close to Steve and blinking. He looks dazed, like maybe the booze is finally going to knock him on his ass, but then he darts his face in and kisses Steve.

He kisses Steve on the lips, a warm press and then the slide of his lower lip over Steve's as he pulls away and it's like nothing Steve imagined. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it thumping against his sternum and his skin is flushed hot and sensitive the way it gets when he has a fever. It's the most amazing thing he's ever felt.

He leans into Bucky and hides his face against Bucky's jacket. It's embarrassing the way when he gets excited, he loses his breath. That's why he feels dizzy, he's sure.

"So was that icky?" Bucky asks in a small voice.

Steve shakes his head against Bucky's shoulder. "Horrible, you jerk," he mumbles and stays there.

 

*

They're all drunk off their asses, lurching and crowing and singing, crowded into the only pub the village down the road from the backend of nowhere air base boasts, and Steve loves it. New Year's 1944 and he knows, knows in his heart, that this is the year they're going to win the war. Next year all of them will be home.

As much as he wants that for each and every one of the soldiers serving with him, especially the Howlies, Steve also realizes that means they'll scatter to the four winds. Frenchie'll be back in France, Monty'll be doing something very proper and British and complaining about his tea back in Yorkshire or Berkshire or whatever 'shire he's always waxing poetic about. Oxfordshire, actually, but everyone pretends they forget. Jim and Gabe and Dum-Dum will all go back to the States, but California is a long way from New York or Chicago and there's no guessing where Dum-Dum'll end up, only that he'll still have that ridiculous Bowler hat perched on his noggin wherever he is.

No, the end of the war will mean the end of the Howlies. Bucky's the only one who will be coming back to New York with Steve. He thinks – he hopes – that maybe Peggy might come back with him too. That would be as close to heaven as Steve can imagine, healthy, home, and with his best friend and best girl at his sides.

He's going to miss the rest of them, that's for sure, and just for this night, he's trying to appreciate them at their drunken worst. Captain Rogers is off duty and Steve is egging his friends on to have some fun. They deserve it.

The pub's barely better than a hole, cramped, dark, and on any other night, likely dreary, but tonight there are paper lanterns round oil lamps, ridiculous homemade decorations, and a few Christmas ornaments left over, dangling from the exposed beams. The radio is playing music made for dancing and the beer is excellent. Well, excellent by Steve's Prohibition lowered standards.

Steve does miss getting drunk a little, the way he and Bucky used to do down on the docks, but only a little. He doesn't miss being color-blind though. Everything is a kaleidoscope of shades he hadn't known he missed before. He gets kind of drunk on all that, along with the laughter and the music he can finally really hear. No wonder Bucky loved dancing so much and no wonder Steve was so awful at it before the serum.

Bucky seems intent on drinking enough to make up for Steve's sobriety, though he holds it better than Steve remembers him doing. Imagining his hangover in the morning makes Steve wince, but maybe cutting loose will ease some of the tension that possesses Bucky these days. Nothing but the end of the war will erase the bruised darkness around his eyes, though.

Steve shakes his head at his thoughts. Bucky's okay. He says so and that's good enough for Steve. 

Beer sloshes onto his uniform as two arms wrap around him from behind and Dum-Dum's voice is in his ear. "Let's hear it for the hardest fighting, hardest drinking, bravest bastards to ever wear a uniform, the Howling Commandos and Captain America!" He hugs Steve another minute, lifting him off his feet, while the rest of the Howlies cheer hysterically and Steve's face flames red. Over at the bar, Bucky's laughing at him.

"Get off me, Dugan," Steve insists and resists kicking his feet in the air.

Dum-Dum dumps him back down and groans. "We could drop him on a ship and he's heavy enough to punch a hole in the hull."

"Are you saying Cap's getting' fat?" Jim asks. Jim's the easiest of them all to read, he doesn't hide anything though he can do the enlisted man's stone-face for the brass. Mischief lights up his whole face. His mustache almost twitches with the way he's trying not to smile.

"Well, I'm not saying it, but my back is."

"No one asked you, Dugan," Steve tells him.

Monty and Gabe are laughing out-right. Steve spins around and grabs Dum-Dum with one arm, lifting him off his feet. Dum-Dum flails at him, making him spill more beer from the stein in other hand. "Let me down, let me down!"

"I think you need some air." Steve starts to march toward the door while still holding Dum-Dum aloft. It isn't hard, he can lift a motorcycle easily after all, except Dum-Dum kicks and squirms.

Bucky arrives at his side just short of the doorway and says seriously, "Better put him down, Stevie."

Steve contemplates it. "Why?"

"He's looking greener than a leprechaun."

A glance at Dum-Dum shows his face is sweating, eyes bugging out, and he's swallowing hard, like a man a breath away from ralphing his last three meals. Steve hurriedly puts him on his feet and pushes him toward the door.

"You'd think he could hold his whiskey better," Gabe says behind them and chuckles. Dum-Dum shoves the door open enough to stick his Bowler-topped head out into the night air and suck in several deep breaths. It seems to do the trick though and he turns back into the pub without losing his dinner, cocky grin once more plastered under his mustache. "Aw, the lovely fresh air! Nothing like the perfume of sheep shit and mud to clear your head."

The rest of the Howlies have congregated there by the door, slightly separate from the remainder of the crowd in the pub, and they all groan. They've slogged through enough pastures at night to have a close and sorry acquaintance with every sort of farm animal manure, and are split on what's worst, while agreeing horse apples are the least unpleasant. Bucky's close enough to Steve their shoulders brush when one of them breathes out. He can feel Bucky chuckle under his breath.

Dernier comments, "Mieux que les égouts." Which Steve thinks means 'better than sewers,' if he heard it right and oui, oui, oui. That last mission in Naples had them sneaking into a Hydra compound through a drainage tunnel that left all of the Howlies reeking for days. He's pretty sure they stunned the Hydra goons inside with their stench, because they sure didn't surprise them, but they still won.

"Got that right, Frenchie," Monty agrees.

Dum-Dum is paying no attention, though. His eyes have lit on something over Steve's head. His face splits into an even wider grin and he points. "Look!"

Everyone cranes their head to spot what has him so delighted. Gabe grins too.

"Mistletoe!"

"Ya gotta kiss someone, Cap!"

"Looks like the Sarge is right under it too," Monty eggs them on. He's gone all loose the way he does when he's really plastered. Otherwise he likely wouldn't be participating in this.

Dernier has begun giggling, hand over his mouth like he can't stop himself, though he's trying. He'll pass out soon and someone will have to carry him back to base. Dum-Dum and Gabe are competing for the biggest Cheshire grin.

Bucky just looks unimpressed by all of them. "Christmas is over, boys."

"Mistletoe is for always," Dum-Dum insists.

Steve glances at Bucky again and an imp of mischief possesses him, despite being impervious to the alcohol fueling the rest of them. He's big enough and strong enough now he can do the man-handling the way Bucky did to him when he ended up a head taller than Steve during puberty.

"Well, who am I to deny tradition?" He passes his empty stein to Gabe. Bucky's eyes widen in response to the smile taking over Steve's face.

"What? Steve, don't you – "

Before Bucky can react beyond that, Steve sweeps him into his arms. Bucky grabs onto Steve's shoulders, likely to push him off, but Steve is going for it all the way. He dips Bucky like a USO showgirl, supporting his weight easily, and lays a big, smacking, overdone kiss on his lips, to the resounding cheers of the others.

Bucky immediately starts wiping at his mouth, cussing under his breath, and shooting death glares at the other men. "What the hell, Steve?"

"Happy New Year, Sgt. Barnes," Steve tells him, feeling foolish and happy even though his heart stuttered the way it did the time Bucky kissed him on the docks.

Dernier presses new drinks into both their hands. Their gazes meet and they don't have to discuss it; they both knock down their drinks in one long gulp.

Dum-Dum grabs them both by the shoulders and kisses their cheeks. "Hooray for the Howling Commandos!"

Monty starts a slow clap followed by Gabe, only to realize he's Dum-Dum's next target. They back away, nearly knocking into the crowd behind them. Dum-Dum just cackles and extends his arms. "Come here, my pretties!"

"I will shoot you," Jim tells Dum-Dum before he can turn his attack Jim's way.

Dum-Dum laughs and heads after Monty and Gabe.

Jim chuckles and says, "I'll go make sure we don't all end up in the hoosegow."

That leaves Steve with Bucky. Bucky's staring down into his empty shot glass.

"I didn't really make you mad, did I?" Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. "Naw." He grins up at Steve through his fringe. "Not bad. You been practicing with Carter?"

The hot feeling crawling over Steve's face gives him away and Bucky starts laughing.

"Good for you, Stevie. At least one of us is making some time. That was my first kiss since Basic, I swear."

"What about that girl you went to the Expo with?"

"Nope."

Of course not, Steve realizes, Bucky had been too worried about leaving him behind. Bucky's hardly had time or any chances at romancing a girl since then. He wishes he'd made the kiss better.

 

*

He hasn't felt this beat down since he was a punk kid more than eighty years ago. His heart hurts even more than his body. It shouldn't have come to this, he doesn't understand how it did, how anyone could have twisted everything around to go so wrong. 

There has to have been some other way it could have gone. He just doesn't know where he should have done anything differently. All he's done since he woke up in this century is react.

He should have acted.

God, he should have told Tony the truth. He could have got through to him if he'd just had time. Tony's too smart not to see that it was Hydra, the ones who brainwashed Bucky and gave the orders, who were responsible for Howard and Maria's deaths.

If there had just been time.

"Shoulda let him do it," Bucky mumbles as they reel their way out of the bunker.

Bucky's a strung-out weight against his side, weaving on his feet and half-delirious. Steve's glad he left the shield behind. He needs both hands to hold onto Bucky.

"Not worth it," Bucky insists.

"Shut up, just shut up."

"Stevie." Bucky's breathing unevenly. He persists anyway, words hitching and hissing when the pain hits him harder. "Someone has to… go back for… Stark's kid." His arm over Steve's shoulder spasms. "He'll die. …You wrecked that suit of his." He gasps when Steve stumbles and the jolt of it goes through him. Steve is amazed Bucky even stays conscious. But Bucky marshals strength from somewhere Steve can't imagine and stays on his feet. "It ain't his fault. We can't leave him."

"I'll call someone to come get him when we're out of here," Steve promises. He isn't sure it's a good idea, but he needs Bucky to keep moving. No, Bucky's right. Tony doesn't have super human healing. He could die here. It doesn't matter if it's a bad idea and will bring the hounds down on them again; it's the right thing to do. Tony is still his friend.

They need to get back to the quinjet and then, God, Steve needs to figure out what to do for Bucky's arm. It's gone. Tony blew it off and all that's left is a twisted horror of metal leaking sparks like blood. It's horrifying. No one should endure that twice and he doesn't know, but the way Bucky shudders spasmodically with each new shower of sparks makes Steve think it must hurt as badly as the first time.

He can't even scoop up a handful of snow and use it to try to numb Bucky's pain.

Once he's got Bucky stabilized, Steve has to figure out what they do next. There's no going home, there's no home to go to anymore. Avengers' Compound, Tony's tower, and he hasn't had an apartment of his own since the SHIELD one Bucky shot to shit, all those are out of bounds now. All of the US is, with Ross throwing his weight around. Well, maybe Ross will come for Tony – no, he'll call Vision. The android is still free, since he fought on Tony's side. Natasha… Steve can't be sure she hasn't been arrested too.

And, God, Steve still doesn't know what's happened to the rest of his people. Sam, Wanda, Clint, Lang. They've risked everything for him. Tony would have said something if Ross had done more than arrest them, wouldn't he? 

Thinking of the Secretary of State makes Steve want to spit from the bad taste in his mouth. He's seen enough patriots like Ross, none of them anything more than power-hungry jackasses. Answering to Nick Fury was bad enough, they disagreed on too many things, but at least Fury was actually trying to protect the people, not wrap himself in glory.

Tony never gave Steve a chance to explain his objections to the Accords. Not that Tony gave a damn about them, about law or accountability or anything but revenge in the end. He's so damned mad at Tony for once again thinking he knows what's right for everyone. Tony made him choose, what kind of friend does that? 

How the hell did Tony think Steve wouldn't choose Bucky, if only because Bucky had no one else to stand up for him? Steve has always been ready to fight for the underdog. Tony didn't need Steve on his side; he has money, technology and the weight of the goddamn UN behind him.

Bucky has no one but Steve; even Sam and Wanda and the rest weren't there for Bucky. They were fighting for Steve. He knew that and he feels a little ashamed that they might feel like he's used them, but he wouldn't have been refusing to sign the Accords just to save Bucky. 

It's bigger than Bucky. They think Steve is blinded by their friendship, but Bucky is just the first shot in a war on the Avengers and anyone else who is 'super'. He's seen how segregating and taking away the rights of people who were 'different' ended, with Stars of David and triangle badges, camps and furnaces. He'd have fought as hard for Wanda, locked up in the Compound not because she'd done anything, but just because she had the ability to do it, for Bruce, wherever he was hiding from the likes of Ross, so he couldn't be used as a weapon, and even for that kid Tony recruited into this shitstorm. Bucky is just the first one the UN was going to use the Accords to put down.

He stares across the white expanse of snow and Bucky buries his face against Steve's neck and says, "Just let me die and you can go back. They'll take you back. Please."

"No." Steve tightens his hold on Bucky. "I'm not letting you go." He's not. He won't. He can't lose Bucky again. He can't, it will break him once and for all. He feels sick and furious at just the thought.

"Stevie."

"You go, I go with you," he tells Bucky as fiercely as he can.

Bucky lifts his head enough to meet Steve's gaze. The overcast drains every hint of warmth from their surroundings, but the light still catches in the blue-gray of Bucky's eyes, so they burn like a chemical fire. "You dumb punk."

"To the end of the line, remember?" Steve insists.

"I think that train derailed." But Bucky shifts most of his weight back to his legs and pushes away from Steve, scanning their surroundings for threats, like some broke-wing bird of prey, wild as he is wounded, still ready to fight, if not for himself then for Steve.

The cold cuts through Steve's uniform, feeling like an icy knife where it's torn. It must be worse where Bucky's shoulder joint is exposed to the freezing air.

"Come on."

Bucky ignores him and murmurs, "Where's Zemo?"

Steve had forgotten the original threat in the face of Tony's homicidal rage, but now he stiffens, because there are others hunting revenge here too. He scans the barren surroundings of the bunker. Maybe the man was caught and crushed in the destruction their fight with Tony did to the inside of the bunker. Steve wouldn't cry over that.

He spots the snow crawler Zemo must have used to reach the bunker after extracting the location from Bucky. He can see the snow shrouded outline of the quinjet where they landed as well. So Zemo hasn't managed to extract himself. Let Tony have him, if Tony still gives a damn about any kind of justice. Damn it, why couldn't anyone see that it didn't matter who the Winter Soldier had been? Beyond all the blood and murder, the Winter Soldier was a victim, just as much as Howard and all of Hydra's targets. Steve would have fought to see him treated fairly if he'd never known it was Bucky behind the mask and muzzle.

He wants to squeeze his eyes shut at that thought, because he didn't leave Tony in any shape to handle Zemo or anyone and because he knows Tony meant well. Tony really thought the Accords were an answer, the best answer, even if they aren't. Tony's always been the most vulnerable of the Avengers and Zemo holds all the Avengers accountable for the devastation in Sokovia. If he couldn't make them kill each other, the man would doubtless not hesitate to kill Tony himself.

He doesn't know what to do when Bucky goes rigid beside him and Steve realizes he's out of time to figure anything out. 

He turns his head and sees what Bucky has: a sleek black jet landed not far from their quinjet and the black-suited figure of the Black Panther pacing toward them steadily.

Another man hunting for revenge. 

He doesn't have his shield to put between those vibranium claws and Bucky. It'll have to be himself.

"Get to the jet and power it up for take-off," he orders Bucky.

"No, Steve, don't," Bucky's panting, "Just let me go. I'm done. I'm so tired."

"No. You get out of here. I'll hold him off."

"I'm not going anywhere without you."

He glares at T'Challa and steps between him and Bucky.

T'Challa has his mask off, so his breath puffs in the subzero air. He holds his hands out, open, though with his claws he's hardly weaponless.

"I am not here to attack you," T'Challa declares. "You or the Winter Soldier." His gaze drifts to Bucky and his ruined shoulder, the absence of his arm, and he winces. 

"You were eight hours ago."

"I was wrong."

"Wrong about Bucky or about killing him?"

T'Challa bows his head at Steve's jab. "Both. My father would have wanted justice not revenge. Nothing could have disappointed him more than to know I had killed an innocent man."

Bucky blinks blearily at T'Challa. "Not exactly innocent."

"Who among us is wholly innocent?" T'Challa replied. "I have the man Zemo. I know it was he who killed my father." Anger growls under his word, but T'Challa is utterly controlled. "All of the victims of his bombing deserve justice. I intend to return him to face Wakandan justice."

Snow flutters between them on a gust of rising wind. The weather is lowering, a storm racing in, and soon there will be no escaping this place until it is blown out. Bucky's shaking. Steve doesn't want it to end here, both of them lying in the snow.

For one thing, it's only too likely that they'll both be found and revived. He won't let Bucky wake up a prisoner again.

"You would not have been forced to confront the Avengers if it were not for my interference in Romania," T'Challa says to Bucky.

Bucky snorts. "Think a lot of yourself, don't you? Zemo's trick made everybody into his beaters. I'd've been flushed out anyway."

"But not caught. Not if you'd been willing to kill."

Bucky's gaze goes dead and flat along with his voice. "Lot of good what I want does when Zemo or anyone with the right words can tell me to do whatever they want." The absolute exhaustion in Bucky's words makes Steve shiver. 

"I have an offer for you. You and the Captain."

"I'm not surrendering." 

"No, that would only make things worse at this point," T'Challa concedes. "I am offering you both sanctuary in my country." He nods at Bucky's shoulder. "We have sufficient medical technology to care for your needs."

"I thought Wakanda supported the Accords," Steve has to say.

T'Challa nods. "But my father never had the chance to formally sign them." His expression tightens. "And I will not. The Accords my father envisioned have been subverted. He would not have approved."

Steve turns to Bucky. "It's up to you, Buck." He doesn't know where they'd go or what they'd do, but he's leaving it up to Bucky to say yes or no.

Bucky squints at T'Challa and finally nods. "What the hell." 

"Come then, we will use my jet."

"We could follow you," Steve offers instead.

"And then everyone would know we were with him," Bucky says.

"Your friend is right. No one will question why I am returning to Wakanda and closing the borders so my people may mourn my father without the outside world watching. No one will know you had not already gone by the time I found Zemo."

Steve can't find any reason to object. It's the kind of twisty thinking Natasha excels at and no one will ever look for them in Wakanda. The last anyone knows, T'Challa meant to find and kill them. Some people will likely even believe T'Challa succeeded. 

Leaving the quinjet will only add to the mystery. And it would give Tony a way to get out if he can't use his Iron Man armor.

"Where is Zemo?" he asks.

T'Challa almost smiles. "My jet has an equipment compartment. It is rather cramped for a man, but it is pressurized."

Steve winces, but won't object. If anyone deserves a cold, rough ride, it's Zemo.

"I shall land to refuel in Germany. My Dora Milaje will remove him there and turn him over to the authorities," T'Challa adds. "They will not allow anyone else to approach the aircraft."

It will work.

Bucky lurches and T'Challa looks like he's ready to catch him before he falls, but Steve gets there first and wraps an arm around Bucky's waist to steady him.

At the ladder they need to climb to get into T'Challa's jet, which is more like a two-seater fighter than a transport – he and Bucky are going to have to squeeze into the back seat together – Steve hesitates. He looks over at T'Challa. "Can you go down there and check on Tony before we go?"

"Yes, but if he is not in need of help, I will not let him know I am there. If he is, I will tell him you are both already gone. So, please, board," T'Challa answers before heading back to the bunker.

Steve presses his forehead to Bucky's.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure as I can be," Bucky answers with a wry smile. It's still a smile and it makes Steve's heart feel lighter. They're going to get out of this. They always do when they have each other.

He thumbs the raw contusion on Bucky's cheekbone. "I know you're hurting."

"It's okay."

He lifts his head just enough to ghost a kiss against the wound. "There. Just like your ma. Better?"

"I think that's the first time anyone ever kissed the Winter Soldier," Bucky says.

Steve doesn't know what to say so he kisses Bucky's temple instead, before helping him up into the jet and following so T'Challa can climb in and get them the hell out of Siberia before anyone else finds them.

*

 

T'Challa's deprogrammers do their work while Bucky is still coming out of cryo. They say it's easier to dismantle Hydra's brainwashing while Bucky's not conscious to fight the mental invasion.

The tallest researcher, a woman who looks enough like one of T'Challa's Dora Milaje that Steve had to ask and found out they are sisters explains, "It doesn't matter that he consciously wants this. He's been fighting their control and their invasions so long, he can't stop, even for an ally." Her smile is filled with pain. "You flinch from pain, it's a reflex, even if it is a doctor stitching you up to save you."

Steve nods. He gets it. But he still insists on having everything – everything – explained to him and being present through the entire procedure.

They have the Red Book that Zemo used to trigger the Winter Soldier into compliance. There are other strings of control words and even – Steve gags when he finds out – a verbal kill switch. With the book, though, they have a blue print of what has to be disarmed. 

Wanda is part of the procedure too. She isn't a telepath, so she can't read what's in someone's mind. Her power lets her make someone feel things, though. Once, she used it to make the Avengers all see the things they fear most. This time, she uses it to make Bucky feel different things, changing the associations Hydra wired into Bucky's brain, linking the triggers to emotions and memories that reinforce Bucky's autonomy instead of compliance.

When they're done and Bucky is thawed and sleeping, Wanda touches Steve's arm. She smiles at him with a new warmth before she leaves the lab. She's trusted him more since he broke her and the others out of the Raft. Not because he came for her, though. She tells him she would take any chance, throw anyone to the wolves to have Pietro back. She understands Steve now, when she didn't before.

They've all been outlaws the last two years. Still trying to save the world from the worst threats that show up, though, and it's bound them tighter. Tony's Avengers have done their part too. No one pursues Steve or his people too hard any longer. There has been more and more talk of revising the Sokovia Accords in the wake of Thaddeus Ross' public disgrace – a revelation of dirty dealings orchestrated by Tony though no one could prove it. Without Ross manipulating the media and the public with skewed propaganda, the world's opinion has changed. There have even been occasions that Steve's team has joined forces with Tony's in a battlefield truce to fight a mutual enemy. Thor usually acts as their liaison. He's hardly subtle, but he never had to choose a side, so no one holds any grudges against him.

And there's Bucky and Bucky's situation. He still has sanctuary in Wakanda and no one will touch him here. T'Challa has made his nation a super power in two short years, though he would say his father made Wakanda great and he has only let the rest of the world know of their strength.

Or as Clint crudely put it, T'Challa could screw the Secretary of State in the White House Rose Garden and the President would just congratulate him on his technique as long as the vibranium keeps coming. Getting a UN pardon for the Winter Soldier didn't cost much with this new world order. Most of the world figures he's dead anyway, since he hasn't been seen since Leipzig.

Tony hasn't said a word.

The pardon came through before Nuri and the scientists were sure they finally had a way to free Bucky's mind.

Now, Steve can sit in a chair next to the bed and watch as Bucky breathes, waiting for him to wake up, and he can breathe himself.

The world is changing – the world has always been changing, he knows now – but for the first time it doesn't scare Steve. He doesn't want to cling to the past. He wants the future, with Bucky free and alive, and Hydra once more a fading footnote to history.

The room is white, like the cryo lab, and airy, but instead of stainless steel and machinery, there are paintings on the walls by Wakandan artists and the furniture is wicker and comfortable. A wall of French doors opens onto a veranda that looks out on the Palace's gardens, a riot of native flora laid out in a way that makes visual sense yet is utterly different than any European type garden Steve's ever seen. There are no regimented rows. The plants braid together, tall ones shading delicate flowers, briars guarding vegetables, poison vines repelling hungry insects. In Wakanda, the goal is to help nature and let nature help them, rather than forcing it. Steve isn't sure he understands the philosophy, but it clearly works for the Wakandans. T'Challa's country is beautiful, successful, technologically ahead of the rest of the world, and still looks untouched.

Steve opens the French doors a little to let in the afternoon breeze and the scent of the flowers growing lushly everywhere. No matter how confused Bucky is when he wakes, when he opens his eyes, he'll know immediately he isn't in Hydra's hands again, and the easy, obvious exit will tell him he isn't a captive.

Steve sits again. He has a tablet and a sketch book, but isn't even fooling himself he could concentrate enough to use either. Waiting isn't so bad, not this time.

Natasha ducks her head in the room, hair dyed bright red again, and looks to Bucky and then Steve. Her lips quirk up. "Taking his time?"

"He always did like to sleep in."

"I'll leave you to it."

She doesn't bother to say to call her if he needs her. Steve knows.

She showed up in Wakanda a month after the Raft break out, hair long and platinum blonde, with Laura Barton, Clint's kids, and Scott Lang's ex-wife and daughter in tow. Somehow, she'd convinced them all they'd be safer beyond Thaddeus Ross' reach and smuggled them out of the US under the nose of every intelligence and law enforcement agency on the planet.

Steve wasn't even surprised.

Hope Van Dyne and Hank Pym followed not long after, the first but not the last in a quiet exodus, then Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, even Darcy Lewis abandoned their homes; the best and brightest who weren't willing to give up their work to the Accords came looking for an intellectual sanctuary. Wakanda discreetly took them all in, even Elizabeth Ross.

Things were better now, since Tony used his money and political pull to bring down Ross, but Wakanda gained many of the brightest scientists of their generation before that. 

Steve's looking forward to telling Bucky all about it. Sam helped him make lists, insisting he didn't include the really important stuff, like the latest Mountain Goats album or the release of Stark's hologram entertainment suites or the conclusion of Game of Thrones.

A softly indrawn breath snaps Steve's attention to Bucky's face. His eyes open slowly and move to take in the room, stopping when they settle on Steve. His smile is tentative.

"Stevie?"

"Yeah, Buck," he says, "you're awake now. They got Hydra's poison out of your head. It's okay."

Bucky's smile widens at that and he pushes himself up in the bed. It's slower and slightly awkward with one arm, but he doesn't seem bothered.

"Come here, punk," he says once he's upright and Steve leaps out of his chair. He wraps Bucky in the hug he's wanted to give him since finding out he was alive, the one there was never a moment to share. Bucky curls his arm around the back of Steve's neck and holds on just as tight. Neither of them want to let go and only do when a bird cry from outside startles them both.

Bucky looks to the French doors.

"We're still in Wakanda," Steve tells him.

"And I'm good? It's gone?"

"Yes. It's been – it's been two years, Buck. No one wanted to take a chance until we were sure it would work."

"Okay, then let me get up. I want to go outside. I want to see the sun."

Steve watches as Bucky gets to his feet, worried that he might still be rocky from the cryo or off balance without his arm, but Bucky moves with all his old confidence.

Bucky gives him a side eye once they're on the veranda. "I feel like I'm me again."

"You're not a wanted criminal any more either."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"That's good, because this – " Bucky nods toward the capped-off end of his shoulder, " – could be a problem." Steve isn't sure if he means it makes him too identifiable or that fighting will be harder without his artificial arm.

"T'Challa's people have designs for a new arm for you. No one wanted to just attach one to you before you woke up."

The muscle in Bucky's jaw jumps and he swallows. "Yeah. Thanks for that. I remember waking up – " He frowns. "I remember everything."

"The scientists thought you would. They said your brain repaired itself during cryo and without Hydra wiping you as soon as you came out, you'd probably have everything again."

"Not sure that's so great," Bucky says, "but I guess it's better than feeling like my brain's Swiss cheese." He looks out over the garden. "Long way from Brooklyn."

"But it's beautiful," Steve says. He's looking at Bucky instead of the lush riot of jungle flowers. He can't look away, but he wants Bucky to look back at him. "Buck."

Bucky smiles at him and it's natural as breathing to step closer, to rest his hands on Bucky's shoulders, to pull him close and rest his forehead against his, eyes falling shut. He can feel Bucky's breath over his lips. "Stevie."

Steve kisses his forehead, but it isn't enough. He kisses Bucky's temple, and his cheek, and the corner of his mouth, until Bucky whispers, "Steve, what are you doing?" He doesn't move away from Steve and Steve doesn't pull away either.

"Kissing it better?"

"You've already done that."

"Do you remember, that first kiss?"

"I remember all of them, Steve."

"Remember this one," Steve says and kisses Bucky, gently, tenderly, and with all the passion he never let himself acknowledge before, the love that brought them together over and over, through ice and fire, and the promise that at last they can be together. This time, for the first time, Bucky kisses him back.

This is their first kiss.

 

The End


End file.
